


Decadence and Disorder

by Smol_Lydia (amutemockingjay)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Eating Disorders, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Musicalbabes, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amutemockingjay/pseuds/Smol_Lydia
Summary: Breathe in, breathe out. A year after Beetlejuice left, and Lydia Deetz is running out of time, her life slipping out of her grasp. Summoned to her side at her lowest moment, Beetlejuice is willing to move hell and Earth to save his pretty little wife from an untimely demise. But did he strike a bargain he can't fulfill?
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 23
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I just want to give a little trigger warning here--this fic has implied sexual violence and a fairly realistic depiction of an eating disorder. I started writing a beetlebabes fic this fall when I was in residential treatment for anorexia, and this is built off that idea. I don't want to romanticize this disease whatsoever because it's ugly and awful; rather I wanted to paint a realistic picture. 
> 
> I was also inspired by a question asked on ladystrangeandunusual's tumblr page about what Beej would do if Lydia was dying before her time. She writes some of the best fics out there, just saying. :) 
> 
> I pulled some inspo from Greek mythology in this as well, and borrowed more of a movieverse Juno because I refuse to accept that Juno is Beej's mother. In this house we respect Juno. I will probably pull elements from the cartoon as well but the Beej and Lydia here are musicalverse.

You can take my body, you can take my bones, you can take my blood but not my soul

\--Rhiannon Giddens, At the Purchaser’s Option

* * *

She got used to aches. The ache of loneliness that ate away at the tender flesh near her ribs, the ache at the base of her throat, the scabs on her knuckles. The ache between her legs, phantom pains from a night she couldn’t get out of her mind, no matter how much she scrubbed under hot water, or how little she ate or the hours she spent on the bathroom floor. 

Far from home, in a lonely concrete dorm, Lydia Deetz lost all semblance of herself—everything except a ring she still wore on her left hand. She hadn’t heard, seen, or sensed the demon since he had left the Deetz-Maitland home the year previous. She wished she could put him out of her mind, but as the green stone glinted at her, she knew she couldn’t, even if he wouldn’t recognize her as his Scarecrow anymore. 

Her heart pounded erratically in her chest as she tied back her dark hair with a ribbon. The tile of the bathroom floor chilled her to the bone, the fine downy hair that had sprouted on her body standing on end. Her nails chipped, she lifted the toilet seat and stuck her fingers down her throat, bending over at the waist when she felt the bile rise. 

Purging was ugly, disgusting—but so was what had been done to her. It didn’t bother her when she saw streaks of red in her vomit; it wouldn’t be the first time she had purged blood. What caught her off guard was the way her head spun, her heart nearly slamming out of her chest. Her vision darkened at the edges and she was seized with panic. As much as she longed for numbness, she knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. Her knees gave way, and as she collapsed she heard the snapping of bone. A rush of pain had her crying out, and she called for him, a shot into the darkness. 

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice…”

She remembered nothing else, her body surrendering to the void beyond.

* * *

Beetlejuice was sulking, arms crossed over his chest, when he heard the call. Banished to a remote section of the Neitherworld as a penance for everything that had gone down in the Deetz house, he was bored out of his skull. No way to spy on his pretty little wife, no whores to get his rocks off in the meantime, no one to play pranks on or wreck havoc with. God/Satan above, he missed Lydia, not that he would ever say as much out loud. 

So the sound of her call was a welcome pull back into the world of the living—that is, until he took in the scene around him. Lydia, his Lydia, was unconscious on a bathroom floor, somewhere away from her home. She was nearly unrecognizable, all skin and bones, her tank top and sleeping shorts showing off the sharp angles of her collarbone, the hollowness in her cheekbones. Where her tank top had ridden up he could see her ribs. And her wrist—it was bent at an odd angle where she fell, the bone sticking out. He caught a glimpse of puke in the toilet, streaked with red. 

With tenderness he rarely displayed for anyone or anything, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. She was breathing, barely. He brushed a chunk of her dark hair away from her face. 

“Hang in there, Scarecrow,” he whispered, using his powers to juice them both into a hospital. He had a low opinion of breathers on a good day, but she was sick, dying even, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

His stomach knotted as doctors took her out of his arms, hooked her up to an IV, shocked her heart. Normally his appearance would more than ruffle a few feathers in the waiting, but Beetlejuice didn’t care. His entire world was lying on a gurney in front of him, the life nearly sucked out of her entirely. He was glued in place, unable to move, the helplessness sinking into his core. He could create illusions, possess breathers, kill and maim and destroy, but he couldn’t breathe the life back into the only person he had ever truly cared about. 

He pressed a hand to the glass window of the ICU room, staring at her, feeding tube shoved up her nose and down her throat. 

He felt the rage building, sparks spilling out of his fingertips and cracking that impeccable glass. If someone else had hurt her, there would be hell to pay, but what if her worst enemy was herself? What could he do then? 

He turned away. He had to destroy something, had to rain hellfire down on someone or something, anything to get rid of this horrendous helpless feeling. He cracked his knuckles, his unfiltered rage ready to shake foundations, cause wrecks, destroy everyone and everything. Glancing at the empty hallway, he quickly cloned himself: one self to stand guard and watch over Lydia, and the other to head back into the Netherworld. That marriage contract had to do more than bring him back to life, and he was determined to find answers, no matter who he had to torture along the way. 

* * *

She wasn’t in the Netherworld. Or the Neitherworld for that matter, the place Beetlejuice used to tell her about with lurid description. Instead, she was somewhere in between, hovering between life and death, an endless black void surrounding her. The air smelled musty, pools of water under her bare feet. The endless hallway was all mold and rot, and it reminded her of her monster, back in the days where she had been a real girl, not a shadow. 

She wasn’t sure what she was searching for, what revelations she was chasing. She had already been to the land of the dead, and this wasn’t it. Everything made so much sense when it was distilled to a neat, tight script, like a Broadway show with ends to tie up. The reality was much messier, the edges sharp and jagged and unfinished. 

She heard a splash behind, the sound sending chills up her spine. Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach--something definitely wasn’t right, when had she been afraid of shadows? She turned around, her knees trembling, only to be met with her own reflection. 

This shadow self was deathly thin, dark circles under her eyes, bruises up and down her legs. Her brown eyes were bloodshot, scabs on her knuckles, fingernails brittle and cracked. Dark hair tangled around sunken cheekbones. She hadn’t been able to see her own reflection properly in months; is this what she truly looked like? 

That’s when the not-Lydia, lips pulled back in a guttural snarl, lunged for her throat. 

* * *

“Welcome to the Netherworld, I am Miss Argentina, get in line according to your number--” The redhead stopped mid-sentence when the frenzied demon barreled into her. 

“Cut the shit, Tina, we need to talk.” 

“Thought you were banished,” she said, adjusting her sash with annoyance. 

“Yeah, whatever, who the fuck cares. I need to see Juno. Now!” Crusty old broad as Beetlejuice’s former co-worker was, and as out of patience she was with the demon’s antics, she knew more about the paperwork of the Netherworld than anyone else. 

“Take a number.” Tina put her hands on her hips, her nails long and red. 

“Tina, I swear to God/Satan if I don’t see Juno in the next thirty seconds I’ll destroy you and this entire damn waiting room.” He jabbed his finger on her chest, gritting his teeth. His power was barely under his control, and the room began to shake. 

“Madre de Dios, Beetlejuice, I will get her for you.” She grabbed his finger, detaching the digit completely. “But don’t you come for my space again, you hear?” With a swish of her ponytail, she was gone. 

Beetlejuice paced in the small space, seething. Juno was taking her time, but Lydia didn’t have time, her life surely slipping away by the second. Finally the caseworker appeared in the doorway, cigarette in her hand. 

“Juno--” He began. 

“Lawrence,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You feed me to a sandworm for enforcing the rules, and now you turn around expect my help? Give me one good reason why I should give you the time of day.” 

“It’s not me, it’s Lydia.” His voice cracked, and he slumped to his knees. 

Juno burst into laughter, the cruel sound echoing. “How cute, how went and fell in love with the little breather, didn’t you? Tried to bend the rules for your own good but ended up with more than you bargained for? I know she’s dying, and there’s nothing that can be done.” 

“Bullshit,” he spat, eyes full of fire. “Let me look at the fucking contract. There’s gotta be a way. Something--anything.” 

A scroll of paper materialized in Juno’s hand; she threw it at Beetlejuice’s head. He caught it right before it hit him in the eye. 

“I don’t handle contract negotiations; that department solely belongs to the Fates. As if you have any collateral left to give. Now get the hell out of my waiting room!” With a boom, Beetlejuice was tossed out of the space, landing flat on his back. He sat up, blinking. He was on a flat plain, the sky above him grey and streaked with lightening. In the distance, thunder boomed. He scrambled to his feet, clinging to the contract. He opened the document, the words and letters nothing more than a confusing mass--if only he could read properly!

Fuming, he gripped the contract, unrolling it to its full expanse, fingers poised to rip it in half out of fury and frustration. 

“FUCKING DAMN FUCK PIECE OF SHIT!” Thunder rumbled closer now, as clouds gathered in a mass behind him. He screamed and cursed in every language he knew, as drops of rain pelted onto his face. 

“I’ll take that, thank you.” He felt the contract being ripped out of his hands, and he looked down, stare murderous. An old woman stood in front of him, scraggly grey hair escaping from a scarf, a silver-grey dress shimmering. In a blink of an eye she split herself into three, her two other counterparts nearly identical. 

“Like hell you will,” he snarled, and attempted to grab back the contract, only to be thrown backwards into the air, landing hard on his rump. He flipped off the three ghostly women. “Fuck you guys!”

The three women gathered in a tight circle, murmuring amongst themselves. One of them carried a velvet bag, the ribbon tying it looped around her wrist. Finally, they approached him, hovering slightly above the ground. “You are Lawrence Beetlejuice Shoggoth, married to one human girl, Lydia Deetz?” 

His hair and cheeks were red with anger. “Yeah, what if I am?”

“You have tied your soul to the living, to the aforementioned Lydia Deetz for always and eternity, is that correct.”

“Yeah, can you get to the point? How am I supposed to--” 

The Middle Fate curled her finger, and he found himself mute, being dragged closer towards them against his will. “If you want to save the girl, there will be a price. Do you understand?”

He nodded. 

The Fate brandished the bag, spilling dice into his palm. “Roll for her fate. If she lives, you will have one year to make your marriage truly legal and binding. If you fail to consummate the union with her full express permission and consent, Hades keeps her soul forever, and you will be exorcised. Understood?”

He nodded again, and took the dice in his hand. Some chance was better than no chance, and he knew he was luckier than most, having had her in his existence. He closed his eyes and rolled. 

Somewhere on Earth, Lydia Deetz’s soul was violently slammed back into her body, and she opened her eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia wasn't expecting her demon husband to show up, let alone care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, long time no see! Mostly because after I uploaded this fic I started showing signs of Covid in mid-March, and am now dealing with some nasty post viral chronic fatigue syndrome. So thank you for your patience as I update slowly due to that, and I appreciate all your comments!   
> A couple of fun facts: the quote I used, from Marya Hornbacher's Wasted, is probably my favorite ED memoir so it was like a dream come true when I got to study creative writing with her last year. When she praised my writing I think I ascended to another dimension. The unit I based the eating disorders ward on is the Renfrew Center of Philadelphia. I was treated at their inpatient unit in Coconut Creek, FL, but had friends at the Philly inpatient who I visited several times.

“And so I went through the looking glass, stepped into the Netherworld, where up is down and food is greed, where convex mirrors cover the walls, where death is honor and flesh is weak. It is ever-so-easy to go. Harder to find your way back.” 

-Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia, Marya Hornbacher 

* * *

Pain. That was the first sensation that came back to her-- the insistent throbbing of her wrist, shooting sparks up her elbow and lighting entire families of nerves on fire. The dull pulse of her lower back and pelvis, bones so pronounced that even lying on a hospital mattress was agony. The scratchy, swollen sensation in her throat was almost too much to bear. Panicking, her free hand reached up around her neck and her mouth to her cheek, where her fingers made contact with medical tape and a plastic tube. Her chest heaved as her breathing grew rapid and shallow. She sat up, clawing at the feeding tube pumping the dangerous calories into her body against her will. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa Babes, where’s the fire?” A moss covered hand pushed her onto her back, and the demon entered the frame of her blurred vision. 

“Beej?” She croaked, voice hoarse. She couldn’t quite believe he was in front of her. This had to be some kind of hallucination. 

“The one and only.” She could feel the bed sink a little at the weight of him as he sat on the edge next to her. “What the hell did you do, Scarecrow?” 

She glared at him. “None of your damn business.” That was rich of him, to up and abandon her on his bullshit vision quest for a year and a half and then have the audacity to question what she’d be up to in the meantime. 

“Yer my wife, I think it is my business,” he growled, narrowing his golden eyes. 

“Like it matters,” she mumbled. “Was only a green card thing.” Didn’t matter now that she was used and discarded at the hands of another, but he didn’t need to know the sordid details, and he certainly didn’t have the right to pretend to care now. 

“Lyds—“ he started, as a knock on the door interrupted them. 

“Ms. Deetz?” A tall doctor, clipboard in his hands, approached her. “And you are?” His glance of disgust at Beetlejuice was ill disguised. 

“I’m her husband.” 

Tall Doctor’s eyebrows raised slightly at this. “Yes. Well. We’ve been giving you intravenous fluids, electrolytes, and tube feedings for the past twenty four hours and will continue to do so until your vitals stabilize, at which point you’ll be moved to the inpatient ward.” 

Lydia glared at him. What a pompous asshole. She was just fucking fine, thank you very much, and didn’t need some holier than thou guy in a white coat to keep her here. “And if I refuse?” She snapped. 

“Yer not refusing,” Beetlejuice responded. 

“I’m not your property,” she fired back. 

Tall Doctor tutted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. “Actually your….husband is correct. You don’t have a choice, young lady. You’ve been deemed a danger to yourself and have been sectioned under the Baker Act until you reach an appropriate weight and no longer considered a threat.” 

“This is bullshit,” she snapped. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything but feel helpless, tendrils of panic choking her. 

She could sense the Doctor was continuing to talk but her ears were ringing and she had no sense of what he was saying. Her vision was fuzzy at the edges, and she closed her eyes again. 

“Lyds!”

“What?” She was tired, so tired. She opened her eyes, struggling to bring the world into focus. The doctor was gone; it was Beetlejuice who was addressing her. 

“Why?” His question was simple, the single word conveying a sadness she couldn’t fully reckon with, not now. She knew, on some level, what he was asking. Why has she fallen so far, why had she started down this path to begin with, why had she ended up in the hospital—any of the above. 

She sighed. She couldn’t tell him the truth—what would he think of her then? 

“I’m tired, Beej.” 

“I’m not leaving.” 

“Whatever. Suit yourself.” It was unlike her to be so snappy but she felt so weak, so broken, as if she were weighed down by so much more than muscle and bone. Truth be told, she feared if she fell asleep she wouldn’t wake. There was something comforting about the demon sitting on the edge of her bed, casting light across the blanket from his spectral glow. 

She wished more than anything that she could be the girl she once was. But if he knew what had happened to the Lydia Deetz he had married he wouldn’t care for her anymore, she was certain of it. It was safer to disappear. To push everyone and everything away because reckoning with loss after loss became too much. Romanticize the self destruction she had never wanted but felt as necessary as breathing. Beetlejuice could undo all of that with his one question. Especially given he was a liar, a con man, a cheat who didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. Yet here he was, sitting on her bed, refusing to leave her side. There had to be an angle for him in all of this, though she wasn’t sure what. 

All the thoughts made her head pound and she closed her eyes, somewhat reassured that the scoundrel still sat, watching his wife’s weak pulse tick erratically on machines, her life hanging in a fragile balance. 

* * *

Beetlejuice looked down at Lydia as she dozed, furrowing his brow. He didn't care about anyone or anything but this small breather had captured his attention from the moment they had first met on the roof. Even then she had been running headlong into self destruction, near crazed with grief and desperation. She had been the first person to truly see him, and he knew there was a dark side to her sweet personality that drew them together. 

His stomach clenched, in knots as his thoughts dwelled on his own absence for the past year and a half. Guilt was a foreign feeling to the demon, who had gleefully wrought destruction for centuries. And yet, here he was, brought to his knees by one nineteen year old Lydia Deetz. 

One year. That was all he had to convince her that this marriage was more than a green card thing, that their souls were intertwined in ways that she hadn’t known when she agreed to the otherworldly marriage. 

He cracked his knuckles, his palms marked with the imprints of his ragged nails, caked with dirt. He couldn’t bear to leave Lydia, yet he needed answers as to how his beautiful bride had found herself on the bathroom floor, the life seeping out of her. 

* * *

“Miss Deetz?’ Someone was shaking her awake. Lydia blinked, taking in her surroundings. For a brief moment she had forgotten where she was. The beeping of the machines in the dreary hospital room brought her back to reality. 

“Beej?” She mumbled. The feeding tube made her throat ache, the words raspy. 

“What was that, dear?” A brunette nurse looked at her. Beetlejuice was gone, and Lydia felt panic squeeze in her chest. 

“Nothing,” Lydia said softly. She didn’t know if the demon would be back, or if he had abandoned her once again. She tried to push back the bitterness. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. 

“It’s time to move you to the unit,” the nurse said. She pushed a wheelchair towards the side of the bed, with a hook for the tube-formula in a bag above Lydia’s head. Lydia waved off the gesture of help, and was shocked to find her knees buckling beneath her as she stood. Taking the wheelchair was humiliating enough. The fact that she could barely stand was worse. 

“The inpatient unit is in another building, just for all of you.” The nurse tucked a blanket around Lydia’s bony knees and grabbed a black duffel bag at the foot of the bed. 

“What’s that?” 

“Your husband brought you some of your clothes.” 

Lydia gave the nurse a ghost of her former smile. Knowing Beej, he probably pulled from whatever he could find in the Netherworld, aware of how much maintaining her look made her feel better. “Did you see him?” She asked, hoping that the desperation didn’t creep too much into her voice. 

The nurse shook her head, beginning to push Lydia out of the room. “I didn’t. But he’s welcome to visit every weekend.” Through a maze of hallways that seemed deserted so early in the morning, the nurse leaned in. “I know it’s none of my business but you seem awfully young to be married, at nineteen.”

Lydia gave a derisive snort. “You have no idea,” she muttered. Down an elevator and through a covered path, the eating disorders unit was a building all its own. Grey slate covered the outside, with wide windows and a cluster of trees. Almost pretty, if it weren’t for the fact that she was trapped here. The nurse pushed a button next to the front doors and they opened. A large lobby with a checkered floor and a nurses desk, where someone sat, chewing gum. 

“Bringing a patient in from medical,” the nurse said to the woman at the desk. Papers shuffled, eyes squinting over dusty glasses. 

“Ah yes. Lydia Deetz. She’s going to be in the suite, A4.” Those grey eyes fixed on Lydia’s. “You can get settled, and someone will be by to search your bags. You’re on wheelchair protocol until you stabilize. It’s not quite breakfast yet, so you’ll be able to meet your roommates.” 

Lydia bit her lower lip. She wouldn’t get close to those girls, her roommates, no matter how nice they may try to be. She would keep her head down, invisible, until she could break free. 

Her new bedroom was painted a pale pink, with three teak twin beds and flowered bedspreads. Lydia wrinkled her nose in disgust. She definitely wasn’t going to fit in here by any means. There were a couple of dressers, and a door that lead to a bathroom. Upon Lydia being wheeled into the room, a girl with long auburn hair bounded up to greet her. She was curvy, not at all like what Lydia imagined girls in this sort of hospital would look like. Her blue eyes sparkled. “Hi, I’m Presley! I’m so excited to be your roommate!”

Lydia shrunk back, overwhelmed by the sheer manic energy that the girl seemed to give off. 

“Go easy on her, Prez. She just got here,” the nurse said. “Where’s your other half?”

“Brushing her hair,” Presley answered, gesturing to the bathroom door, which was open a crack. 

“Where’s her obs?” The nurse asked. 

Presley shrugged. “Dunno.”

The nurse sighed. “You know you aren’t supposed to be in the bathroom alone. Let me go get someone.” Placing Lydia’s bag on the empty bed the nurse bustled out into the foyer. 

“Prez, your turn.” A voice came from the bathroom. Somehow, the voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until the figure rounded the corner that Lydia made the connection. Frizzy red-brown hair. The pacemaker. Freckles sprinkled across her nose. She was taller, and definitely thinner than the last time Lydia had seen her, and she wore a pair of otter pajama bottoms and a grey tank top. 

“Sky?”    



	3. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the first day, Lydia has to confront someone she never thought she would see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all--
> 
> I apologize for the significant delay in updating this. Partially its because I started an MFA program last fall, but also because I will admit.....writing about something based quite heavily in my own past is more difficult than I thought. Strangely the more time elapses between when I was inpatient for my anorexia and now, it becomes more difficult to talk about. 
> 
> But I still feel a need to talk about it. Yeah idk either lol

Hunger, Hunger is the greatest sin/it is an empty church in a crowded bin

—White Foxes, Susane Sundfor

* * *

There had been rumors, of course. That Sky had nearly been killed by the odd girl in the house on the hill. After Beetlejuice had left, destroying everything in his path— as he was wont to do— Lydia had retreated further within herself. Until she could leave for college, and leave the memories of Winter River behind. 

Presley took in Sky’s glare, the way Lydia seemed to fold into herself, a far cry from the confident, swaggering girl she once was. 

“Do you two….know each other?” She asked. 

“In a way,” Lydia replied, as Sky said, “We’re from the same town,” at the same time. 

“Oh wow! I wish I had a friend when I first arrived. You’re so lucky.” Presley reached into a dresser drawer and pulled out a flowered dress and pale pink tights. 

“We’re not friends,” Lydia said. 

“Ah...okay. I’m gonna...get dressed. Sky, let me know if the nurse comes back.” Presley disappeared into the bathroom. 

This left Lydia and Sky alone, in an increasingly awkward silence. Guilt turned Lydia’s stomach. At the time, she had been engaging in what she considered mindless pranks. A way to vent her rage at the world over the loss of her mom, of her entire life being turned upside down. But had the scare led to Sky ending up here? 

In the before times, she would never had been at loss for words, whether it be a snappy comeback or a heartfelt plea. But with the more she sank into shrinking her body, the more her voice grew faint until it was a mere whisper and she was a shadow of who she once was. 

“I…” She started, unsure of what to say. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sky snapped. 

She was so different than the small, impressionable girl Lydia had frightened that day. Not without merit; she supposed she would be bitter if she was traumatized for life— hell, she was, though the trauma was different. 

“Okay.” Lydia felt a rush of gratitude when the nurse returned to the room. 

“You’re going to do your intake now,” the nurse said. “Someone will search your bags later.” 

Lydia wrinkled her brows. Search her, like some sort of criminal? What would she even smuggle into a place like this? 

Still, Lydia was glad to be out of the oppressive air of her room, and wheeled down a hallway to a foyer painted a soft fawn color. There were several padded benches settled on a dull tile floor, and beyond was a glass door that lead to the outside world. “Residence” was written in letters on top of the door, and to her left was a room that resembled a fishbowl of sorts. All windows where clinicians could look in at the patients, she supposed. This hour of the morning there were a few women who looked to only be a few years older than her, and a doctor in a clinical white coat. 

The nurse pushed her past the fishbowl to a plain white door on the other end of the foyer. In the small room beyond there was a medical exam table covered in white butcher paper. The nurse stopped her tube feed and disconnected it from the bag. 

“The charge nurse will do a preliminary exam and then you’ll meet your therapist and dietician later today.” 

Lydia tried to stand on her own but once again felt her knees buckle; the nurse helped her onto the exam table. Hanging her head in shame, she sat on the cold table in her hospital gown, shivering. 

She wasn’t especially surprised that her undead husband materialized in that moment.

“Yer cold, babes?” He moved to take his striped jacket off and drape over her shoulders and she shook off his advance. 

“You’re not supposed to be here, Beej. They can see you! I summoned you, remember?” 

“No problem babes.” In an instant he snapped his fingers and turned invisible to everyone but her. 

“They’re gonna think I’m crazy, talking to no one.” 

Beetlejuice shrugged. “I hate to break it to you, babes, but yer already considered to have a few screws loose, given where you are.” 

“Fuck you,” she snapped. 

His grin turned feral. “Gladly.” 

In that moment a curvy woman with an olive complexion opened the door and entered the room. She wore purple scrubs with the hospital logo embroidered on the pocket, a stethoscope hanging around her neck. “Lydia Deetz?”

“That’s me,” Lydia replied. 

“I’m Elena,” the woman said, holding her hand out to shake. Her nails were immaculate with a French manicure. “I’m the head nurse here on the eating disorders unit.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Lydia gave Elena a weak smile. 

Beetlejuice was not so subtly staring at Elena’s pert ass and Lydia rolled her eyes. Predictable, yet it made her irrationally angry for reasons she didn’t understand. 

“I’m going to take your weight, vitals, and ask you some questions, okay? Then we can get you in the dining room with the other girls.”

“Sure.” It wasn’t really like her to be so agreeable, but she figured if she didn’t give them attitude they wouldn’t have reason to extend the legal hold on her any longer than necessary. Then she could get out of here and forget this ever happened. 

Elena helped her onto the medical scale. “We don’t do blind weights, just so you know. We believe it’s an important exposure to process your emotions about the scale.” 

This suited her just fine— as long as the number didn’t go up, of course. Still, she felt herself holding her breath as she stepped on the scale. A routine she had been doing for over a year now and yet, she still got anxious if the numbers wasn’t where she wanted it to be. She scowled— her weight was up by half a pound. 

Elena noted her expression. “It bothers you?” 

Lydia shrugged her shoulders. She wanted to scream, “of course it does you dumb bitch; I don’t want to be here!” Instead she just pressed her lips together in a tight line as the nurse took her blood pressure and heart rate lying down, sitting, and standing, noting her orthostatic intolerance and tachycardia. 

“You’ll be on mandatory Gatorade’s before your meals,” she said. “For your blood pressure and heart rate.” 

To his eternal credit Beej was being quiet for once, watching Lydia get poked and prodded. In fact, the way he furrowed his brows made Lydia think he was worried. But that was a ridiculous idea. Beetlejuice didn’t worry about her. 

Next came the flurry of questions— how she felt about her body, her daily intake of food, her purging, the compulsive exercise. Elena noted everything in a chart. Though she told Elena about some of her behaviors, she didn’t mention the manic binges that came with her purges, the reason why she became disgusted with her body to begin with. It was too humiliating, too shameful. They didn’t have to own every part of her sickness, after all. 

Finally, Elena pulled out an index card and a blue marker. “We work on a badge system here instead of hospital bracelets. Each badge offers you different privileges, and if necessary for support, certain restrictions. You will wear your badge at all times, except when sleeping.” She pulled a clear holder with a red stripe on it out of a drawer, placing Lydia’s name tag in it. “Because of your medical instability you will be on red badge, or full day room. That means between the hours of 8 am and 9 pm you will be in the community room. Your bathroom will be locked, and showers supervised. When you stabilize a bit more we can move you to partial day room, and then escorts, all right?” 

“Don’t worry babes.” Beetlejuice put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of fun. Just like old times.” 

She hung her head. She didn’t feel like the same girl she once was. 

“I’m not in the mood, Beej,” she mumbled. “Please leave me alone.” 

“What was that?” Elena asked. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.” 

“I was just asking if I’m allowed visitors,” she lied smoothly. 

BJ hadn’t budged. Lydia shot him a look that said if he didn’t get his ass moving she wouldn’t hesitate to banish him back. She had summoned him, after all. The look in his eyes in response made her miss, for a brief moment, how much time they had spent together that they understood each other in a simple glance. 

“Yes, of course. Your paperwork from the ICU mentioned you had a husband?” 

She nodded. 

“He’s more than welcome to visit in the evenings after dinner. You can meet with him out on the patio.” 

“Thank you.” Lydia turned and Beetlejuice was gone, just as she had asked for. Putting the hated red badge around her neck she made her way back into the wheelchair. 

“I’ll take you over to the dining room. I think Judy is running breakfast this morning.” 

The dining room was on the far end of the building past a hallway full of offices. A gaggle of girls and women stood in front of the closed doors and Lydia felt overwhelmed and completely alone. So many people. She was used to sticking out like a sore thumb given her dark choppy hair and punk boots and all black clothing. But the loneliness of it, after Mama died, still left her reeling. 

“Lydia!” 

It was Presley again, holding a white sheet of paper and a pen. 

“Hey,” Lydia mumbled. At least Sky wasn’t with her. 

“A lot to take in, huh?” 

Lydia nodded. 

“We usually fill these out at the tables and leave them folders after the meal for our dietician. Did they assign you a dietician yet?” 

“Nope.” 

Presley shrugged her shoulders. “I guess they will soon. You’ll be sitting with us over on the trays table.” 

Lydia noticed that Presley’s badge had a green stripe on the bottom compared to her red badge. That must be what Elena meant by escorts. 

The dining room doors opened and Presley beckoned her over. “Come with me.” 

Presley looked up at Elena, who was still gripping Lydia’s chair. Lydia hated how little control she had of her own movement already. If getting a little stronger was the price to pay for freedom of movement, she’d do what she had to do. 

“You know you can’t push the other clients, Prez,” Elena said. 

Presley pouted. “Fine.” 

At the table there were ten place settings, trays with plates covered to keep the food warm. Lydia was seated next to Presley and a small brunette. Sky was nowhere to be seen. 

“Sky is on Staff Dining,” Presley said by way of explanation, though the words meant little to Lydia. 

She lifted the lid off her tray to be faced with a glass of milk, a banana nut muffin, butter in a packet for said muffin, and sliced apples. 

Presley frowned down at her plate. “I hate muffin day. Sorry. I shouldn’t talk bad about food at the table. Never mind.” 

It should be so simple. Spread the butter on the muffin, pick it up, and eat it. And yet Lydia, the girl who prided herself on fearing nothing, was terrified. 

Could the calories from the oil and sugar and flour soak through the skin on her fingertips and make her gain weight? It was a completely irrational thought, yet it played in her mind over and over again as she calculated the calories of the food in front of her. Too much. 

Anxiety made her stomach turn, her knees knock together under the table. Everything felt completely unreal, her vision hazy. She could hear the other girls at the table start some kind of word game but she couldn’t understand what they were saying; everything sounded like a low, buzzing, unintelligible hum. She picked up her fork than put it down again, as though it were a foreign object she didn’t know how to use. 

A glance up at the clock; twenty of the thirty allotted minutes for breakfast had already past. How? 

She got the vague sense that Beetlejuice was behind her, that otherworldly sense that had dulled through her months of starvation. He was invisible to everyone else, and she hung her head. The last thing she needed was for him to see her like this, so weak, so afraid, so far from what he had known back in Winter River. It was shameful. 

“Please, Beej,” she hissed as quietly as she dared. “Just go.” 

Disappointment clouded his features, and he faded, muttering to himself. She hadn’t actually expected him to acquiesce without some kind of chaos in his wake, but the muffled cursing coming from the kitchen quickly gave away his new location, surely giving the poor cooks hell and a half. 

“Lydia?” A voice to her left broke her out of her haze. 

“Huh?” 

“I was asking if we could do anything to support you.” Presley’s blue eyes were full of genuine concern which somehow made Lydia feel worse. She didn’t deserve the kindness. 

“I’m okay,” Lydia said quietly. 

“If you’re sure.” 

Across the table Lydia could see the other teenage girls offering words of encouragement to those struggling with their plates, holding hands if needed. It was kind, and somehow that stung more than anything else. 

The dishes were cleared and put away, those unable to complete given cups of a milky substance called Boost plus. Lydia had the substance put through her tube. 

“Escorts!” One of the nurses called, and a few girls stood up, the scraping of chairs against the linoleum. 

Presley gave her a small smile. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

It was as the others began to clear out of the dining room that Lydia finally hung her head, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, the anxiety at the calories being pumped into her body far too much to take. 

How the fuck had she ended up like this? 

* * *

“Lydia, you have a visitor.” 

One of the counselors called her over from the door of the community room; Lydia struggled to process her words. It had been a long day of being shuffled to different doctors—psychiatrist, therapist, nutritionist—and rounds of introductions as she joined the “milieu” of other sad girls suffering the way she did. Little had stuck. 

She knew that her visitor was bound to be Beetlejuice, and she was surprised to be wheeled into the foyer and greeted by….her husband, who looked nothing like her husband. 

Beetlejuice had disguised himself, cleaned up a little as the moss disappeared from his skin and hair. His beard scruff was still visible, and his golden demonic eyes remained the same but the lack of grime caught her off guard. 

A nurse wheeled her to a small table on the outside patio, Beej taking a seat opposite her. 

“Heya, babes.” 

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “You're clean.” 

He made a face, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. “Given how that breather doctor was ready to have me hauled away in the hospital ‘cuz I didn’t seem to be yer husband, I thought I should maybe, dunno, do somethin’ different.” 

“It’s disconcerting,” she said. 

He lit up a cigarette. “So you like me dirty, eh, babes?” His grin was feral. 

She snatched the cigarettes from him, pulling one out for herself, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel herself blushing. “Gimme that.” 

Lighting a cigarette, she stared out onto the grounds, dotted with trees and flower beds. “Why are you even still here, Beej?” 

He leaned back in the plastic chair, kicking his feet onto the table. “You summoned me before you passed out. I ain’t going nowhere anytime soon.” 

“I mean, you just walked out of my life over a year ago on some quest for enlightenment and I haven’t heard from you since.” Lydia didn’t realize she was angry at the demon’s leaving until the bitterness leaked into her tone. 

Beej shrugged his shoulders. “What can I tell you babes, time don’t mean anything except to breathers.” 

“That doesn’t sound much like an apology.” She blew smoke into the cold air. 

“Is it supposed to?” 

“You're an ass, Beetlejuice.” 

“And you like it,” he retorted. 

Lydia had nothing to say back that didn’t sound like an affirmation. She stubbed out her cigarette, trying to make sense of the conflicting feelings that were raising in her. How many times over the past year had she wished he was by her side? They were friends, a match made in hell, and he had up and disappeared like he hadn’t manipulated her into marriage and she hadn’t (literally) stabbed him in the back. 

If he had been around that night would have never happened, and she wouldn’t have reached inward, gone on a full blown crusade to turn her internal pain outward. She could feel the lump in her throat making a comeback and she knew she was on the verge of crying, not for the first time that day. 

“What’s wrong, Lyds?” 

Was she imagining it, or was there concern in his voice?

She shook her head, wishing that she could erase her thoughts like an Etch-A-Sketch. The lie rolled off her tongue easily after months of practice. “Nothing. I’m fine. Just fine.” 


End file.
